CONFESSION
There was a fire on the edge of the fire, the sort
of complication no one ever wants. A doubling of
intention, a twisted-twice force of trouble and ruin.
Small craft were falling from the sky, but, no, not
really. They were dropping trails of water or something,
and as the wet-trail fell, before dispersing, it almost
looked solid. I was a witness to this, but never
wanted to tell the story. That meant a reluctance
to talk to authority, and a really glum view
of the world. I'm quite comfortable
with all that, as such, the way
of the world.
There was a fire on the edge of the fire, the sort
of complication no one ever wants. A doubling of
intention, a twisted-twice force of trouble and ruin.
Small craft were falling from the sky, but, no, not
really. They were dropping trails of water or something,
and as the wet-trail fell, before dispersing, it almost
looked solid. I was a witness to this, but never
wanted to tell the story. That meant a reluctance
to talk to authority, and a really glum view
of the world. I'm quite comfortable
with all that, as such, the way
of the world.
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